


Tales From The Citadel

by Icarusdusoleil



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Character Study, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In which not all of the characters are good people, Pre-Mad Max: Fury Road, but they're all just trying to do their jobs, mentions of suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarusdusoleil/pseuds/Icarusdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of anecdotes about a sequence of events leading up to the chase on Fury Road, witnessed by people with vastly different lives. Enter the desert kingdom of Immortan Joe, where all lives are connected and many paths may cross, however unlikely. Each individual has a story to tell, though not all may live to tell it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chef

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the book “Tales from Jabba’s Palace”. I really like the idea of telling a story through the eyes of many people, so this was very fun to write. Keep in mind that each of these stories take place around the same time frame. I hope you enjoy your time at the Citadel!

Each war boy has their specific talent—whether it’s driving, fighting, repairing, or even music making. Angot has a talent unique to the machine-driven happenings of the Citadel: cooking.

He prides himself in his ability, for he was hand-picked to be the head chef for the illustrious Immortan Joe himself. Just as a mechanic can take spare parts to build a fully functioning vehicle, Angot can craft eloquent, lavish, and nutritional dishes from shriveled plants and sinewy meats.

Angot the chef is an artist and food is his medium.

He takes great care to ensure that all of his meals are absolutely perfect by keeping a very close eye on his assistants and by adding the final touches to each dish himself. He knows very well that upsetting the Immortan could lead to a fate worse than death: being cast down to the Wretched below.

Angot works long and hard to ensure that food is supplied to all three towers of the Citadel—the highest quality of food of course goes to the Immortan, his sons, the Imperators, and Joe’s precious breeders who are locked away in the bio dome. While Angot never sees the breeders eat his food, he always feels a swell of pride when he sees the dishes come back scraped clean.

However, one day Angot’s confidence in his status as head chef is shaken as a plate of uneaten and cold food shows up in the kitchen at the end of the day.

“What is this?” Angot demanded and held the plate in front of his assistant’s nose.

“F-food, sir?” The assistant answered tentatively.

“Who didn’t eat their meal? Where did this come from?” Angot leaned forward and shook the plate slightly. A thin slice of potato slipped off the plate and fell to the ground.

“Th-the Vault, chef,” The assistant leaned back nervously, “It came from the Vault.”

Angot felt a chill run down his spine. His anger instantly sobered and he nodded numbly. Food coming back untouched from the Vault was not a good sign. He shoved the plate into his assistant’s hands and said, “Dispose of it. Quickly and thoroughly.”

The assistant nodded and scurried away, already digging his fingers into the food and shoving it into his mouth. Angot turned and pressed his fingers into his temple. His thoughts began to race as he thought about the various horrible punishments that awaited him if Immortan Joe were to find out about the untouched food. He took a deep breath and tried to think positively. Perhaps the wife just did not like scalloped potatoes. Perhaps she wasn’t hungry. Perhaps it was a one-time occurrence and Angot had no reason to panic whatsoever.

It was not a one-time occurrence.

The next day, a plate of food came back untouched. And the day after that. And even more days after that. Angot began to panic.

He could hear the assistants mutter under their breaths and he knew they were talking about him—about his sudden ineptitude and failures as a chef. Fearing that his assistants would turn against him and inform the Immortan of the issue, Angot tried to hide the uneaten food from his assistants.

He disposed of the food in various ways—by throwing it out the window, stuffing the mushy carrots into the pockets of passing War Boys, and even bringing the plate down to the Organic Mechanic who claimed he was using the food for a personal project. Angot didn’t want to know the details, but he dutifully warmed the food and brought it down to the greasy, damp medical halls every few nights.

Angot tried different recipes. He had to get creative and wracked his brain each morning for something new and exciting for the starving wife to eat. He tried everything, even using a new strain of pea plants that the hydraulics gardener Gagor Mandal had snuck to him. He hoped that something, _anything_ would entice the wives to eat his food. But still, each day, a plate came back clean.

Keeping the uneaten food a secret from his assistants was no easy feat, especially as the days stretched on. Angot knew that his attempts would be in vain and that the Immortan would find out somehow. There was always someone watching in the Citadel. He dreaded the day that the Immortan would pay a visit to his kitchens.

That day came sooner than Angot expected it to and he wrung his hands nervously as he waited for the Immortan to arrive. The evening was not particularly warm, but Angot could feel beads of sweat run down the sides of his face as he heard the Immortan’s mechanical breathing approach over the sounds of the kitchen. The Immortan entered the room in his full regalia and flanked by his large son, two of his most trusted Imperators, and a couple of respectful war pups.

“W-welcome, Immortan,” Angot saluted with the sign of the V8 and saw his assistants do the same out of the corners of his eyes. “Your presence blesses my humble kitchen.”

“Chef Angot,” the Immortan breathed and casually placed his arm around Angot’s shoulders, and they began to pace around the kitchen, “How are you this evening?”

Angot felt a shiver run down his spine as the Imperators—Prime and Rox—walked around the room like predators. They inspected the cleanliness and watched the bustling assistants clean for the night. Rictus stood by the door, his arms crossed as he shifted from foot to foot impatiently, and the war pups stood demurely at his side.

“Oh, I-I’m fine, your highness,” Angot stuttered and paused, “Er, how are you?”

The Immortan eyed him and then let out a deep chuckle, “No need to fear, Chef Angot. I am here to commend you on your cooking. Your dishes have been exquisite these past few days.”

“Oh!”

“Don’t think I wouldn’t notice,” the Immortan jokingly wagged his finger and Angot felt he was going to faint dead away in relief. The Immortan continued on about how the dishes were imaginative and bursting with flavour, but Angot suddenly stopped listening as the dish trolley was pushed back into the kitchen.

Panic hit Angot like a lancer pole as he saw the plate of uneaten food sitting atop all of the other dirty dishes. The Immortan was going on and on about food—which usually Angot would be very happy to discuss—but his mind raced as he tried to think of a way to get rid of the food. The chef tentatively inched away from the Immortan and pretended to inspect one of his assistants.

His assistant eyed him but said nothing, so Angot moved on as the Immortan continued to speak. He deftly made his way across the kitchen and to the dish trolley before the dish washer could get there first. The Imperators watched him, but they said nothing as the Immortan continued to wax poetic about food. He could feel sweat pooling at his collar as he stood with his back in front of the trolley and deftly picked up the plate of food behind his back.

Angot nodded with feigned interest at something the Immortan said—at this point, he wasn’t hearing anything—and began to inch to the side towards the open window. It was a grueling minute as he side-stepped around the room, trying to act inconspicuous as all eyes were on him. The Prime Imperator raised his eyebrow at his odd behaviour and Angot smiled disarmingly at him.

Finally, he was at the window and casually leaned back. Slowly, he let go of the plate and it slid down the side of the Citadel with barely an audible scrape. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a long smear of food down the side of the red rock wall. He only hoped that no one else would notice.

“That was a good talk, Chef Angot,” the Immortan said with satisfaction and Angot nodded in agreeance. His heart pounded in his ears as the Immortan, Rictus, Prime, Rox, and the two war pups filed out the door. Immortan called over his shoulder, “My compliments to the chef!” before they all disappeared down the hall.

Angot stood stiffly for a good moment and watched the kitchen swim around him. All of his assistants turned to look at him curiously as he let out a small wail and fainted dead away.

 

It was time to take drastic measures.

That very night, Angot slipped quietly up the tower steps to the bio dome. He reached the hydraulic gardens with ease—no guard or war boy stopped him on his quest. He quietly crept past the hanging plant boxes and became very aware of voices at the end of the room. He ducked behind some plants and peered around them.

Gagor Mandal, the hydraulics worker who had given Angot a new strain of pea plants, was standing and talking to Imperator Furiosa in hushed tones. Angot couldn’t see Gagor’s face, but Furiosa looked serious.

“—ran into me. I thought it was a ghost, because she was all white and—”

“Which way did she go?” The Imperator interrupted.

Gagor pointed with a shaking hand. The Imperator grabbed the gardener’s arm with her metal hand and led her away. Angot listened to their footsteps fade away and tried not to think of what Gagor had said. With a deep breath, Angot crept up to the vault door and took the handle.

He spun the lock and the thick door made a loud _thunk_ before it opened easily enough. He slowly pulled the door open and glanced behind him before stepping inside the dark tunnel that led to the bio dome.

And ran face-first into Immotan Joe himself.

Angot looked up in alarm as the Immortan’s face turned red with fury. In a split second, Angot put two-and-two together—one of the wives had escaped, Gagor saw it, and Furiosa and Immortan were investigating. And Angot was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt his stomach drop as the Immortan howled with rage and dragged him away from the bio dome.

As the vault door closed, Angot could see four young, female faces peer out with a mixture of fear and interest. The Immortan’s grip on his arm tightened and Angot knew that he was done for.


	2. The Organic Mechanic

The blood bags kept dying.

This was a source of endless frustration for the Organic Mechanic. There was a constant flow of sick war boys needing transfusions, but the blood bags were dropping like flies. He lamented to Joe about the issue on more than one occasion—if they pulled the blood bags from another source besides the Wretched, maybe then Organic wouldn’t go through the donors so quickly. However, Joe only listened with an uncaring air and never acted on the Organic’s complaints.

Nevertheless, like a festering wound, the Organic Mechanic was persistent. As he did his monthly check on Joe’s wives, he tried to come up with another way to ask the Immortan. Luckily, he discovered something that he hoped would help his cause. Or at least put Joe into a better, more charitable mood.

“Joe,” Organic drawled and stepped out from behind the curtain of the breeder’s bed chamber where he left them huddled together. Joe patiently stood next to the small pool of water in the centre of the room and Organic could see the Imperator Furiosa at her post by the door. “Your girlie’s pregnant.”

The Immortan’s eyes widened and he stepped forward with excitement, “What? Which one?”

“Splendid.”

Joe made a noise of triumph and lifted his hands as if he were praying to some divine being. The Organic Mechanic chucked and heard a sharp sob from the room behind him. Immortan Joe stepped forward and slapped Organic on the back.

“O fortuitous day! Today is a day to celebrate, Organic!” Joe beamed.

“She’s a little thin,” the mechanic warned.

“I’ll have the chef prepare a lavish meal,” Joe nodded enthusiastically and wheezed, “Some more meat on her bones will help my child grow.”

Joe began to stride towards the door, but Organic remained rooted to the spot. Now that the Immortan was distracted, maybe he’d agree to the mechanic’s request this time... “Joe, you know my blood bags are dying…”

“That old issue?” The Immortan waved his hand dismissively, “Fine, fine, we’ll send out a search party for wanderers. We’ll get you some fresh blood. Now, come, I must make preparations for tonight.”

The Organic Mechanic beamed and felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He paused by the doorway and leaned towards the Imperator Furiosa. She glared up at him as he asked, “How’s the arm?” But he didn’t give her a chance to respond before he all but skipped out of the bio-dome and back to his lab.

It certainly was a fortuitous day.

 

A few months passed before Joe made good on his word. A wasteland traveler was spotted just south of the mesas, so an Imperator and a group of war boys were sent out to collect him. They came back boasting of a rare find—some sort of pursuit special—but Organic Mechanic didn’t care about the car.

They dragged in a scraggly man behind them, howling and kicking and screaming. It took five war boys just to subdue him enough for Organic to inject him with a sedative. Even then, before the wastelander drifted off to sleep, he gave Organic a fat lip with a well-placed head-butt.

While the feral wastelander was out cold, they strapped him to the workbench and the Organic Mechanic set to work. The man was surprisingly healthy for a scavenger and a universal donor to boot. Organic was pleased and whispered a hearty prayer to the Holy V8 for his luck.

The wastelander began to stir and wake up just as the mechanic finished the tattoo, but began to panic as he saw the red-hot brand coming towards him. With an awesome display of strength, he flipped the workbench, rammed the Organic Mechanic in the side and took off down the maze of passageways throughout the Citadel. A bunch of war boys shot off in pursuit, hooting and hollering.

Organic lay on the ground gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him, but he started laughing. A full-life, universal donor! This wastelander was going to be his prized donor and he was almost giddy with excitement.

Little did he know… this raging feral would turn out to be a huge thorn in Organic’s side.

 

The universal donor wasn’t eating. He refused all food, attacked anyone who came near, and even scratched and bit himself. Obviously, this behaviour was distressing to Organic, as his prized donor was literally tearing himself apart. Organic once tried to hand feed the donor, but got a nasty bite on his hand in response.

“You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth,” Organic growled and nursed his hand. The donor spat back in response.

Fine, two can play that game. Organic had one of the war boys make a muzzle out of some spare metal parts lying around and fit it perfectly to the donor’s face. Getting it on was an ordeal he’d rather not think about. He also bound the donor’s hands behind his back, meaning the feral was unable to move or do anything while he was in the cage. And last, he didn’t offer food to the donor for a few days as an added little punishment.

While it was somewhat of a drastic response to the feral man’s behaviour, it seemed to solve some of the unruliness. During the process of teaching the donor his place, the Organic Mechanic sent word to the chef asking for a nutritious, hot meal. The chef hand-delivered it himself.

“The Immortan is not to know about this,” the chef muttered under his breath as Organic took the plate of steaming food.

“Oh, no,” the mechanic offered a toothy grin, “Just between you and me and the blood bags. It’s for a little, er, personal project of mine.”

Angot the chef shuddered, held up his hands as if he didn’t want to hear any more, and walked away quickly. Organic chuckled and positioned himself directly next to the universal donor and began to eat the food. It was good—so very good, the best meal he ever had in fact—and he could see the longing in the eyes of the feral man.

“Eh?” Organic said through a mouthful of food, “You want some?”

The man stared back with a dark expression.

“You gonna behave?”

Angry silence.

“No biting, scratching, or spitting?” The Organic Mechanic held up the plate of half-eaten food and wafted it under the donor’s nose. “Mmmm,” he said enticingly.

The feral licked his lips and nodded slightly, jingling the chain at the back of his neck.

Organic smiled with all of his teeth and knew that he won.

 

Over the next few days, Organic fed the nutritious meals to the donor, knowing that it would give him strength. He was careful to keep the muzzle on the feral man’s face and to keep at least one hand bound to the cage at all times. Because strength enough to donate blood also meant that the man would have strength enough to resist.

But stringing him upside down and tazing his balls every so often kept the donor quiet and subdued. He took the donations like a champ—only fainting a few times—and Organic was proud that all of his hard work and perseverance had paid off.

“I’ve got a war boy running on empty,” the Organic Mechanic drawled as a sickly driver was brought into his medicine lab. He gestured for his assistants to prepare the feral man, so they raised their cattle prods and unhooked the bottom of the cage. The donor braced himself from the fall, but they a quick zap to his genitals did the trick and he swung down from the cage with a grunt.

“Careful, that’s a universal donor.”

This was the Organic Mechanic’s prized, high-octane, universal donor and he was used for only the best of patients.


	3. The Guard

Winch was disappointed with his lot in life.

Another night, another midnight guard duty. He paced the halls of the silent Citadel and dreamed of being a lancer. Everyone retired to their rooms after a long day in the garage or out on the dunes, but Winch was stuck sleeping during the high-time of the day and patrolling the halls in the dead of the night.

He hated it. _Nothing_ ever happened at midnight in the Citadel.

So he spent his time tossing his lance—which didn’t even have an explosive secured to the end—at the skittish, mangy rats that lived in the mesas. He had a lot of time to practice and developed a strong arm and some very good aim. He imagined that each rat was a distant car, and even sometimes made a small explosion noise whenever he made a hit.

It was good entertainment, but Winch was terribly bored. He hoped that one day, he’d be able to prove himself and join the ranks of the lancers, with their thunder sticks and grey and white war paint that looked so chrome in the sun. But for now, he pulled on his pants, tied up his boots, and slipped into a black, long sleeve shirt as the moon rose high in the sky.

This night started no different than the others. The halls of the Citadel were black, but with a small gas lamp and the light of the moon shining through the few windows that dotted the halls, he made his way from the base of the winding tower all the way to the top. However, something was different about this night.

As he neared the top of the mesa, close to the chambers that housed the Imperators and next to the hydraulics gardens, Immortan Joe himself stormed past, dragging a sobbing man wearing an apron. Surprised, Winch nearly dropped his lance as he kneeled and made the sign of the V8 out of respect. The Immortan paid the guard no mind and continued down the hall with the crying man in tow.

“What in blue-blazes?” Winch muttered to himself. It was certainly an odd event and he took a moment to peek into the hydraulics gardens where the Immortan had come from. The gardens were quiet and still, save for the occasional hum of the engines that sprayed the plants with mist. With a heavy sigh, Winch hefted the lance on his shoulder and returned to his monotonous duty.

The stars had tracked across the sky and the moon was beginning to sink back down toward the horizon as the guard began his trek back down the mesa. He stole one last curious glance in the hydraulic gardens as he passed them, but the rest of the night had been uneventful.

Until he heard female voices conversing softly just down the hall.

“… your name?” A voice asked.

A slightly deeper woman’s voice responded, “Juice.”

The first voice spoke again, “No, your _real_ name.”

Winch furrowed his eyebrows and walked toward the voices. Who was up this late? A couple of the milking mothers perhaps? He listened to the hushed conversation as he approached.

“Adina,” the deeper woman’s voice said after a moment.

“My name is…” The first woman began as Winch rounded the corner. He saw a heavy set woman and a slim woman standing in front of a window cut out of the red clay wall. They were leaning towards each other and holding hands, completely oblivious to the world around them.

“Hey!” Winch shouted and both of the women turned towards him in surprise. Neither had noticed his approach. And suddenly, the slim woman took off down the hall like a terrified mouse. The heavier woman gaped at the guard in shock as he gave chase and shot after her.

He chased the woman up and down the winding tower steps. He turned corners quickly and darted into open passageways in an attempt to lose him. But he was fast and agile, able to change directions just as quickly as she was. He shouted after her, telling her to stop running and that he only wanted to talk to her. But she kept running, frantically trying to get away.

Fortunately, she was getting tired. He could see her slow down and hear her breathing hard. She chanced a glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there, but it slowed her down. Winch put on a burst of speed and was glad that he had a lot of stamina. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. The slim woman began to cry and collapsed with exhaustion at his feet. Only then, Winch realized who she was.

She was one of Joe’s wives.

He clutched her arm as she lay at his feet and wept. None of the war boys ever got to see the breeders; the Immortan kept them locked away from the world. This woman was beautiful with hair the colour of the sand and skin as smooth as… well, he wasn’t sure. He had never felt skin as soft as hers before. Her face looked soft as well, even with the thin scars that created an intricate web around her right eye. Her arm was bony under his hand, but she had a small swell to her stomach. Winch almost forgot to breathe.

“C-come on,” He stuttered and pulled her to her feet. She hung her head in shame and let the tears run freely down her cheeks as he escorted her back up the tower steps to the Immortan’s chambers. As they entered his throne room, she quickly dried her tears, straightened her back, and held her head high. It was a complete change and Winch tried not to stare at how confident she now looked.

The Immortan burst from his rooms and into the throne room. He frantically grabbed the woman and inspected every inch of her for injury or harm. She endured it in silence and Winch averted his eyes, to give the Immortan privacy. He obviously missed her very much.

“What is your name?” The Immortan asked finally, turning his attention to the guard.

“Winch, sir,” he responded with a bow of his head.

“Thank you, Winch,” The Immortan did not let go of his runaway wife, but still placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder. Winch swallowed hard and felt joy course through him. “Thank you for returning my precious belonging to me.”

Winch was lost for words and could only nod dumbly. The Immortan spoke graciously, “I want to repay you for your dedication. Is there anything you want?”

Winch looked up reverently at the Immortan. His eyes widened and he now had his chance to fulfil his dream. “More than anything, I want to be a lancer,” the guard said breathlessly.

“Congratulations, my boy. You are now a lancer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, this story will update twice a day. I will be out of town this coming weekend and I won't have access to my computer for the week following. I don't want to leave off halfway through the story, so two updates a day! I hope you enjoy!


	4. The Music Man

Aux lives and breathes music.

He is one of many in Coma-Doof Warrior’s entourage and helps keep the Doof Wagon in working condition. Aux loves his work and especially loves when he had the chance to play some of the instruments. He was a music man through and through, but never expected Immortan Joe himself to request his assistance.

Meekly, he followed the Prime Imperator up the twisting passageways of the Citadel to the bio-dome, where the Immortan’s prized breeders were kept. The Immortan stood waiting in the hydraulic gardens outside of the vault door. His posture was relaxed, but he watched Aux with an unbreakable stare.

The breathing apparatus wheezed, but the Immortan stood powerfully and confidently before him. “There is a grand piano that is in a state of disrepair,” the Immortan boomed and Aux looked up at him with wonder, “My wives need something to keep them occupied. Perhaps music would help. Fix it.”

With that, the Immortan turned and slowly opened the vault. Aux watched with interest as the heavy door creaked open to reveal a long circular passageway that led into a bright, open chamber. Aux could only describe it as an oasis in the middle of a desert, with a small pool of water in the centre, books stacked at the walls, and a delicate chandelier hanging from the glass ceiling. It looked warm and inviting, but Aux was very aware of the intensity of the Immortan’s gaze fixated on him.

“My Imperator Furiosa will oversee your repairs and ensure that you don’t get distracted,” the Immortan said with a commanding tone as the Imperator herself stepped around the corner of the vault. The Prime Imperator nudged him forward and Aux tentatively hefted his tool bag and walked into the vault. All eyes were on him and he felt extremely self-conscious. He wanted to gaze around the vault and take in all of the details, but he kept his eyes low and dutifully made his way to the piano.

There was a rumble and a clank as the vault door closed behind him. He saw Furiosa sit in a chair at the door and then Aux set to work. The piano was old and he hit a couple of keys to test it out. The instrument responded with a couple of out-of-tune clunks. After inspecting a little more, he decided that the piano wasn’t in terrible shape and he could fix it fairly easily with a bit of cleaning, part replacement, and tuning.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught the Imperator’s attention, “It will take me a couple of days to fix it. But I could get this working good as new soon enough.”

Her response was a simple nod. Excited, Aux cracked his knuckles and set to work. Time passed quickly and he became immersed in his work. His mind wandered a bit as he tinkered and he stole glances around the vault every so often. He marveled that he was privileged enough to be one of the few allowed into the Immortan’s precious sanctum, even if he was being watched like a hawk by the Bag of Nails herself.

He had heard the other war boys talking about the vault recently. Apparently the head chef tried to sneak in a few days ago and was caught, and one of the wives escape, but a midnight guard caught her. Apparently that war boy was a lancer now waiting to be assigned to an Imperator. He wondered what that must be like, to be promoted so suddenly. Though, Aux still felt special for being selected to fix the piano.

The hours ticked by and he worked hard. By the end of the day, he hadn’t seen any of the breeders. Furiosa had approached him quietly and nudged his back with her boot, which made him jump with surprise. He hit his head on the underside of the piano. It made a hollow _thrum_ noise.

“Your work is done for the day. Come back early tomorrow.” And with that, she showed him out of the bio dome. Aux went back to his fellow repair boys and spent the night answering their many questions while filing the worn piano hammers.

 

He returned bright and early the next morning with his tools.

“How much longer will it take you?” Furiosa asked him curtly.

Aux shrugged, “I’ll probably finish today.”

“Good.”

And so, he set to work. About midway through the day, as he was tuning the piano, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Four women, clad in white flowing fabric emerged from behind a curtain. An old woman whose skin was lined with tattoos followed them. He tried not to stare as the women walked over to Furiosa and began talking to her in hushed tones.

Aux tried to listen as hard as he could to what they were saying.

“You’re leaving?” One of the breeders asked. Her hair was cropped short and she had dark, dusty skin.

“I have been reassigned,” Furiosa responded quietly. He pretended to not pay attention.

The wife with long dark hair spoke, “Will you tell us another story of the Green Place before you go?”

_Green Place?_ Aux wondered to himself and suddenly got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He nervously continued to work and hoped the women would go on about the Green Place.

Furiosa spoke, “No. Not now.”

Aux heard the breeders sigh with disappointment. He remembered hearing the other war boys say that the Imperator Furiosa had been guarding the vault for some time. Aux figured the women must have grown close in the time they spent together. Aux and the other war boys spent night and day together, and although they weren’t blood, he considered them all brothers. He figured the women felt the same about each other.

“You’ll come back, right?” The one with flaming red hair asked.

There was a long pause before Furiosa responded, “If he allows, I will try.”

And with that, Aux had finished his repairs. He poked around at the piano a bit more, pretending that he had more to do as he waited to see if the women would talk more. But Furiosa must have sensed his procrastination, because he heard boot steps approach. The repair boy glanced over his shoulder up to the Imperator.

“Er, I’m done, Imperator,” Aux plinked a piano key to show his handiwork, “Good as new.”

Furiosa nodded her head to the door and Aux quickly gathered up his tools. She closely followed him towards the door of the vault, but he took one last glance over his shoulder. Furiosa wasn’t looking at him, but at a doorway across the bio dome with a curtain that had been pulled back. A woman stood there. She had silvery scars along her face and was visibly pregnant.

As Aux continued to walk out of the vault, Furiosa and the pregnant woman nodded to each other. The thick metal door closed behind him and he wondered what that nod meant.


	5. The Ace

This must be some sort of cruel joke.

That’s what the Ace thought when he received his new assignment. It didn’t seem bad at first: he was to be the second in command for an Imperator. Ace had worked for the Imperators before, just like all of the other war boys. But he had never been a second in command. And then, he met his leader and his crew.

His boss was Imperator Furiosa, the only woman to rise in the ranks. And his crew was a bunch of green boys, most of whom had never even been out on the road before. And here he was, the oldest war boy, as the Imperator’s right hand. This _was_ a cruel joke—a woman, a crusty old man, and a ragtag bunch of kids.

The Ace could see the sneers of the other Imperators as he clasped hands with his new commander. Her expression was hard and he could tell she felt the same way. But her eyes blazed with determination. She fought for this and he knew that she would keep fighting for respect, even if it killed her. For that, he already started to admire her.

Their first mission was to use a small rig to clear away some of the Buzzards that were encroaching on the Citadel’s territory. The war boys piled on to the vehicle, whooping and hollering with anticipation. Furiosa wordlessly got into the driver’s seat with her skull-adorned wheel and took them out into the waste. Ace maneuvered himself to the door of the cab and asked, “What’s the plan?”

He watched as she worked her jaw and glanced at him. Her eyes were very green. She spoke with certainty in her voice, “We go in fast and take them out efficiently. Try to use their own weapons against them to minimize the use of ours. No heroics, no sacrifices. Work as a team.”

“Yes… Imperator,” Ace said and considered her orders. The new boys were trained to fight together, but he wondered how well they would actually perform.

It was chaos.

The war boys were inexperienced and their attempts at fighting were sloppy and embarrassing. Ace was quickly hoarse from shouting orders in an attempt to keep the boys in line.

“WINCH!” Ace bellowed, “Stand clear of the tow cable! Morsov you’re gonna hit someone in the back if you don’t check your sights!”

He reloaded his grenade launcher and shot another round at a spiky Buzzard car bumping along next to them. Red hot fire burst out of the car as it exploded and it rocked the rig dangerously. Fortunately, the Imperator was skilled at driving and somehow managed to keep the rig upright and in one piece.

Another Buzzard zipped around to the left side of the rig and accelerated. Ace saw the telltale sign of a rifle sticking out from between the spikes, aimed directly at the driver. The old war boy dove and banged on the roof of the cab. All at once, the door burst open and Furiosa leaned out with an explosive crossbow gripped in her metal hand.

She fired once and hit the gunman dead on. The car swerved away from the rig as it exploded and the Imperator chanced a glance back at her war boys before climbing back in the cab. Her war boys shouted their approval—they all saw her shot and they were all very impressed.

Ace clambered down to the driver’s door and Furiosa turned to him. Her cheek was singed slightly. She said, “Form the boys up. We’ll try again. Work _together_.”

Ace nodded, “Aye, Imperator.”

She nodded back, reached up and yanked the horn cord twice. The rig blared and Ace relayed the orders. The war boys scrambled to their posts and somehow—just somehow—things started to work. They slotted together like a well-oiled machine and one-by-one chased the Buzzards out of Citadel territory. It was a long, hard day, but their mission was a success.

Furiosa somehow didn’t lose any of her war boys.

 

Their successes continued and the motley band of war boys improved with each fight. They worked together and became a formidable, cohesive unit. All of the Ace’s original reservations had completely vanished. Their Bag of Nails Imperator lived up to her nickname and earned her crew’s respect.

She never lost a member of her crew. Valhalla was still an important goal for each war boy, but they were proud of the fact that they served Imperator Furiosa and that their clique stayed unmarred by deaths. Even the Imperator’s prickly demeanor began to soften and she started to warm up to her crew.

They fought Buzzards and Rock Riders, they brought in a V8 Pursuit Special and a wasteland scavenger, they made runs to Gas Town and the Bulletfarm, and they were allowed to explore uncharted territory beyond the Citadel. They were unstoppable.

Because of their great accomplishments, Immortan Joe awarded Furiosa the prized war rig. She accepted graciously and the Ace stood at her side throughout the ceremony. He saw respect in the other Imperators’ expressions and thought, _Good._

She was their Bag of Nails and they were her crew. With the War Rig, nothing could stop them now.

But Ace wasn’t getting any younger. He was still sick and the cancer seemed to chewed on his throat like a wild beast. He sat at the Organic Mechanic’s table after a particularly grueling battle and tried to breathe. He coughed violently and watched as his vision swam.

“You’re not going to die on me yet,” A voice startled him after he finished a coughing fit.

Ace looked up in surprise to see Furiosa standing over him. She was silhouetted by a soft blue light and he could see the tower of steering wheels loom behind her. His Imperator looked like some holy angel of the V8 that would take him to Valhalla.

_You’re not going to die on me yet._ He realized that her words weren’t a question, but rather a command. He offered her a crooked smile and shook his head. His throat burned, but no, he wouldn’t die just yet. She nodded with satisfaction. “We have a run to Gas Town tomorrow. I expect you to be in working order.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Rest up, Ace,” Furiosa said softly and briskly walked away.

“Yes, boss.”

Ace coughed violently again and glanced over to the Organic Mechanic, who stood on a stool and held a steaming plate of food up to a muzzled blood bag. Organic glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and said, “Ah, so you’re one of Fury’s boys?”

Ace smiled inwardly. Fury’s Boys had a nice ring to it.


	6. The Hydraulics Gardener

Gagor Mandal was devoted to plants.

As a worker in the hydraulic gardens, she had to be passionate about the plants. Growing and sustaining strong and healthy vegetables in the middle of a radioactive wasteland was not an easy task, despite the Immortan’s seemingly endless supply of water. And while Gagor was a green thumb, her plants were small and weak, with pitiful fruits.

Knowing that the Immortan was not overly welcome to change, Gagor took it upon herself to secretly breed a stronger plant. Once she was successful, then she would present her findings to the Immortan and surely be praised for her ingenuity. Her plan was fool proof.

She spent months sneaking into the gardens in the middle of the night. It wasn’t hard, because the guard was always too busy tossing his sticks at the rats that lived in the Citadel. She had to be crafty with using the Immortan’s supplies and tools however, because all of the materials—even down to the smallest of seeds—were carefully catalogued.

After months of testing on potatoes, carrots, and other assortments of vegetables, she finally decided to focus all of her efforts on a promising set of pea plants that were growing strongly. She worked tirelessly and passionately, and each new generation of pea plants grew stronger than the next. She began to send some of her test products to the kitchen for the chef to test in his recipes.

But in the months of her midnight work, she witnessed a great many of things. She memorized the routine of the Immortan’s visits to his breeders. She saw the lazy guard pass by each night, lost in his daydreams. She even saw the Immortan’s son Rictus try to break into the vault to have his way with the breeders.

After that event, it was harder for her to sneak into the garden at night. The Immortan posted a guard at the vault door: the formidable Imperator Furiosa.

“What are you doing here,” the Imperator demanded on the first night of her post. Gagor yelped when she saw the gun aimed directly between her eyes.

Gagor froze in her steps and felt beads of sweat run down her face behind her gardener’s mask. She frantically wracked her mind for an excuse and then shakily pointed to the motor that powered the mist machines. “I’m doing the nightly check on the, er, mist motor.”

The Imperator narrowed her eyes and slowly lowered the rifle. When Gagor didn’t move instantly, Furiosa raised her eyebrow and tilted her head towards the motor. Gagor scurried over to the motor and pretended to check it. She took her time and was very aware of the Imperator’s eyes on her back.

She finished looking at the motor and nodded to Furiosa, then left the gardens in a rush, relieved that the Imperator believed her lie. Her task would be harder now with the Bag of Nails on guard. She returned back to the gardens each night at different times, to do her fake check on the motor. Gagor wanted to see what times the Imperator patrolled outside the garden and what time she was actually inside the vault.

After a couple stressful nights, Gagor finally figured out the Imperator’s schedule. Furiosa patrolled the gardens until the moon was just past its peak, when she retired for the night into the vault. That was when Gagor made her way into the garden to check on her plants. Unfortunately, the few days without water and care, her promising peas had withered. She sighed and stroked the leaves, realizing that she would have to start over.

Suddenly, a noise sounded behind her and she jumped up in alarm. Immortan Joe strode confidently through the garden and up to the vault door. Gagor froze and watched the Immortan open the vault and step inside, leaving the door cracked slightly behind him. The gardener completely forgot about the Immortan’s visits to his breeders and mentally chided herself on her stupidity.

Gagor took this as here queue to leave. She gathered up her things and scurried towards the hall. But she suddenly found herself lying flat on her face, her tools scattered on the ground and the weight of another body on top of her. She cried out as she saw a figure clad in all white jump off of her and bolt out of the gardens.

“GARDENER!”

Gagor spun around as Furiosa stormed out of the bio dome and grasped the gardener by the arm, hauling her to her feet. The Imperator leaned in close and snarled, “What are you doing here?”

“Ch-checking the motor again, Imperator!” Gagor lied through her teeth and was thankful for her mask so the Imperator wouldn’t see her sweat, “B-but I thought I saw a ghost!”

“A ghost?” Furiosa sked incredulously.

“She just ran into me. I thought it was a ghost, because she was all white and—”

“Which way did she go?” The Imperator interrupted.

Gagor pointed down the hall with a shaking hand. Furiosa grabbed her arm with her metal hand and lead her out of the gardens. Furiosa escorted Gagor down to the sleeping chambers and instructed her not to return back to the garden during the night. She went to bed with shaking knees, unsure what had just happened. The next morning, Gagor learned that apparently one of the wives had escaped and the head chef had tried to sneak into the vault.

It had been a strange night.

 

Gagor let her side project lapse for a while, as she wasn’t willing to have another encounter with the Imperator Furiosa for some time. Luckily, Furiosa was awarded her own crew of war boys and her days as a guard for the breeders were over. Gagor could happily continue her secret midnight work once more.

Things were going smoothly and she had no issues for a while. Until one night… she turned the corner into the gardens, confident and excited to check on her plants and came face to face with Furiosa herself. Gagor spluttered and took a step back in alarm. Furiosa’s face was a perfect picture of panic, which struck Gagor as strange. The gardener only had a moment to register this and the group of five women huddled behind the Imperator, before Furiosa lifted her mechanical arm and brought it down solidly onto her head.

Gagor dropped like a sack of potatoes.


	7. The Treadmill Rat

The rat was so tired.

It was her first day off the shift after five days on the winch. Walk, stop, walk, stop, and walk some more. And then one or two days of rest before it was back on the winch for her. The treadmill rats were worked to death—literally. The rat watched the world pass by her and the other rats dropped to the chasm below when they were finished with their final shift.

Every night, the rat thought, _Maybe today will be my last shift. Maybe today I will quit._

But every day, she would continue to walk and continue to be a treadmill rat. Walk and walk and walk. Round and round and round. The treadmill went round just as sure as the sun rose and set.

Her shift ended that night and she didn’t quit. With wobbly legs, the rat shuffled off the treadmill and onto solid, un-turning ground. She stumbled to the rat chambers where the other rats piled together. They gave her a meager meal of brick-like bean paste. It was thick and chewy and very dry. The Immortan wouldn’t waste his precious water on the rats.

But the rat scarfed down the bean brick and mustered up the energy to go take a piss over the cliff. There were no restrooms. You either shat where you ate or you shat over the cliff, where your family may be below amongst the Wretched. So she shat over the cliff.

As she stood from her business, the rat looked up and met eyes with five women huddled together amongst the vehicles in the garage. Their skin, clothes, hair, and hands were all clean. Their feet were not bloody. They were not rats. They were _angels_.

The women and the rat stared at each other in shock, frozen in place. None of them dared to move. The rat saw fear in the faces of each woman and wondered why an angel would be so afraid. The moment passed when they heard the sound of boots, so they all turned their heads towards the noise, eyes as wide as the hub caps on the cars.

 Imperator Furiosa came around the corner and the women seemed to relax a bit. The Imperator turned and looked at the rat, her eyes keen and piercing. The women bunched together behind the Imperator and the rat cowered in fear. The Imperator approached slowly and the rat knew this was the end. She was going to be sent over the cliff.

She collapsed to the floor, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited for the final push to be propelled out into space. She waited… but nothing happened. She tentatively opened her eyes and looked up as the Imperator stood over her. The woman’s eyebrows were knitted together in pity.

The Imperator reached down gently and easily picked the rat off of the ground. “Go back to the treadmill,” she said softly, “You saw nothing tonight.”

The rat nodded and quivered in fear. She shook so hard, she felt her bones rattle. Furiosa nudged her lightly and the rat went on her way. As she left the garage, she stole a glance back over her shoulder and saw the Imperator help the five angels crawl into the tank of the War Rig.

Strange.

 

The next day, the rat walked on the treadmill and craned her neck to watch Furiosa drive away on the War Rig. And she knew that there was a secret inside.


	8. The Milking Mother

Wives who had disappointed Joe had one of two options after they were cast out of the vault: become a milk mother or slave away as a treadmill worker.

Truthfully, there was a third option of throwing yourself off the top of the mesa.

Juice had come to realize that the third option would probably have been preferable, because only death’s embrace meant that she would have finally been free of Joe’s clutches. She thought that after she lost her daughter, joining the milk mothers would give her freedom. Juice was wrong.

Yes, she was fed well and she had the company of other women, but her body still belonged to Joe just as much as it had when she was his plaything. But Juice lived on and continued to produce milk, because she was too scared to fling herself into the sky.

As she finished her milking for the day, Juice left the women and made her way back to her sleeping chambers. It was very late at night and the moon was beginning to droop low in the sky. The halls were pitch black and she lit the way with a gas lamp.

There was a large window that had been carved into the thick red stone on the way to her room. Jucie would often gaze out the window and at the desert and the dizzying drop below as she walked by. The moonlight would make the sands look silvery and liquid in the night. She sometimes dreamt that the sands were soft and pillowy, and that they would cushion her fall so she could run away from this terrible place.

 But, tonight, that window was blocked by the figure of a slim woman balanced precariously on the edge. Juice stopped in surprise and the woman turned, terror on her face. The woman’s hair blew in the wind and her stomach was just noticeably round with a child. Juice knew instantly where this woman came from.

“How did you get down here?” Juice asked and approached the wife cautiously.

The wife looked around, searching for anybody else in the halls. She didn’t step away from the window, but responded, “I ran. Joe left the vault open, so I ran.”

Juice nodded slowly and leaned up against the wall next to the woman. The milking mother inspected the wife’s face and saw tear streaks over silvery, lace-like scars. This woman was very beautiful and very young.

“I like to look out this window,” Juice commented, “But I’m too afraid of heights to ever jump.”

The wife looked down at Juice sharply, but the milking mother continued, “I know how it feels. I bore one of Joe’s children. A daughter. But she died when she was two weeks old.”

The wife stood like a rod, unmoving, on the brink of death. She looked away from Juice and gazed out into the night. The two women were silent for a while, both considering the world ahead of them and the drop below. Finally after a long time, the wife spoke.

“There is a Green Place beyond those dunes,” she said softly. It almost sounded like she was reciting poetry, “A land of Many Mothers.”

“It sounds like a fairy tale,” Juice sighed and looked up at the woman.

“It’s real,” the woman said with confidence, but her voice wavered, “Or… at least I hope it is. I want to go there.”

Juice felt hot tears form in her eyes and wished that she could have the same certainty and hope as this woman. But Juice was tired tired and was too afraid to believe in anything like hope anymore. Juice had experienced too much pain and loss in her life. Hope was for the young, beautiful, and free… not the old, saggy, and defeated. She didn’t deserve it.

“What’s your name?”

Juice looked up and saw that the woman had stepped down from the ledge. The wife took Juice’s hand and asked again, “What’s your name?”

“Juice.”

“No, your _real_ name,” the wife insisted.

Juice paused and actually had to think for a moment. What was her real name? It had been a long time since she had used it. Joe had taken so much from her—even her name. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought hard. The wife gripped her hand, as if clinging on for dear life. Juice opened her eyes and said, “Adina.”

The wife smiled and nodded. She mouthed the name and then said, “My name is—”

“Hey!”

Juice and the wife turned in shock as a war boy guard interrupted the moment. Juice felt the wife’s hand stiffen, and there was a split second where all three of them stared at each other, unsure what to do. And then, suddenly the wife turned and ran.

The war boy took off after her. Juice was pushed against the wall as he ran past and watched helplessly as the wife disappeared from sight with the guard hot on her heels. The milking mother gripped the lip of the window and secretly hoped that the wife would escape.

Juice never learned her name.

 

Months passed and Juice sat with the other mothers in the milking room. It wasn’t her turn to be hooked up to the milking machine, but she stayed in support with the other women. She held onto another mother’s hand and felt sleepy because of the afternoon heat. Immortan Joe paced around the room and inspected the women’s progress. Rictus followed him around like a hopeful dog looking for scraps and Corpus peered out the window with his telescope.

The War Rig had left that morning for another supply run to Gas Town and duties had paused for everyone until the fanfare over the rig died down. But now, it was back to work. Juice began to doze off as she heard Joe and Rictus testing some of the milk, but Corpus’ voice suddenly woke her up.

“Pa, you know about this? Your produce ain’t going to Gas Town.”

As Joe frantically rushed out of the room with Rictus trailing after him, Juice smiled to herself and knew.

And she _hoped_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this tour of the Citadel with me! It was a lot of fun exploring the characters from different walks of life. I hope you all enjoyed reading!


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